


Campus Couple & Other Stories

by Snailsway



Category: Twosetviolin
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27408676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snailsway/pseuds/Snailsway
Summary: Collection of cheesy one-shots because posting new stories is a pain."Campus Couple" - Brett is a grad student at the conservatory; Eddy is the annoying know-it-all in one of his classes. Inspired by Eddy's new photoshoot, where he looks like a cool campus oppa.  And in which Brett is a dead-on-the-inside troll."Not You" - Brett wants to find the one who's just right, and, as he keeps telling everyone, that person definitely is not Eddy. (Except it totally is.)
Relationships: Eddy Chen & Brett Yang, Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 37
Kudos: 112





	1. Campus Couple

Brett Yang is a graduate student at the conservatory. He’s just finished a fellowship at SSO and, rather than accept a permanent position with the orchestra, decides that he might as well study with the famous Professor Alexeyev for a few more semesters to see if he can debut as a soloist.

To suck up and make some extra cash, he volunteers to TA for Professor A’s Music and the Market course for undergrads. Professor A invites him to sit in on the first class, to which Brett agrees reluctantly. He thinks undergrads are total asshats—he would know, he used to be one—and besides, he’d rather be practicing, but he didn’t want to be rude.

It goes worse than he expects, because Professor A summons him to the podium. Why don’t you introduce yourself, says the jolly old professor, and tell the class about your experiences with SSO. Brett isn’t shy but isn’t good with the impromptu speaking engagements; he gives a winding, incoherent speech that he immediately regrets.

In the midst of it, his eyes land on a guy in the front row.

The guy stands out to Brett because he looks older than the other students; he might even be as old as Brett. He stares back at Brett with an intelligent gaze behind gold-rimmed glasses. The glasses, combined with a black turtle-neck and stylishly permed hair, make the guy look something like a cross between Steve Jobs and a K-pop oppa. It’s a weird combo, but it kind of works. He’s marginally more attractive than the other guys in the room, and Brett is pretty sure he knows it. 

When Brett momentarily loses his train of thought, the guy gives him an encouraging smile.

“Thank you, Brett,” says Professor A, after Brett accidentally lets out one too many expletives. The guy in the front row laughs softly.

Brett is banished to the back of the room where he spends the rest of the class almost nodding off, but not quite. Not quite, because every time he’s about to fall asleep, the guy in the front raises his hand to make a comment. The comments are intelligent, eloquent, thought-provoking, and utterly uncalled for. Brett glares at the guy from behind, to no effect. Professor A looks very impressed, but Brett gets no sleep that class and is very annoyed.

He’s even more annoyed when Professor A hands him a thick stack of books to take back to the office so that the professor himself can grab an early lunch. Because Brett’s a weak-ass violinist, the books are honestly too heavy for him, and he’s grateful when someone offers to help.

It’s the guy from the front row.

“Hi, I’m Eddy Chen,” he says as he takes half the stack. He does this easily, as if the books weigh nothing. “You might be curious as to why I’m in this class.”

Brett is not, but Eddy continues speaking as they walk.

“I actually graduated from the business school last year and I had initially intended to join my father at his company. You might have heard of it – Pony Records. But I also play violin, and it’s always been my dream and my goal to expand the classical arm of the company. That’s why I’ve decided to re-enroll in the conservatory.”

“Uh huh . . .”

Eddy Chen pauses. They’re standing in the outside corridor. The dappled Brisbane sunshine peeks through the ivory Roman columns and casts a golden glow about Eddy. A warm fall breeze lightly fluffs his hair. A few girls walk by and peer shyly his way; he gives them polite nods, which elicit blushes and giggles.

He then turns to Brett with a gentle smile. “Professor Alexeyev seems great, and the material is right up my alley. I very much look forward to the class and getting to know you over the semester.”

Brett doesn't respond right away. He looks Eddy up and down before his eyes land back on Eddy's face. Eddy's smile grows brighter; he reveals his teeth and looks like a bunny. 

Brett says slowly, "Right. Okay. So, I’m not sure if this is the right time to tell you this, but . . . your fly's down. You may want to fix that.”

Eddy's smile disappears and a look of panic flashes across his face. The heir of Pony Records is wondering, perhaps, when this happened, and who else had noticed. Had the professor noticed? Had the girls noticed? Was that why they were giggling? 

Brett snickers quietly to himself as he walks onwards. Not so cool now, huh? As if Brett would be that easy. 


	2. Not You

_“If I had a girl I should say to her, 'Marry for love if you can, it won't last, but it is a very interesting experience and makes a good beginning in life. Later on, when you marry for money, for heaven's sake let it be big money. There are no other possible reasons for marrying at all.” –_ Nancy Mitford

* * *

Before Brett packed himself off to the conservatory, his mother gifted him some words of wisdom.

“Marry rich.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying.” It had worked for her. She had met Brett’s very capable and very wealthy father when she was still a young girl in art school, had nabbed him with her shy smiles and fluttering lashes and long skirts that ruffled elegantly in the wind with her each poised and dainty step. Since then, she had passed her days in pleasant idle, dabbing leisurely on the canvas when she wished and draping herself lazily over the couch when she didn’t.

“Ok, well, I’m not going to school to catfish rich girls, Mum . . .”

“You don’t have to limit yourself to girls—”

“—I’m going so that I can become a famous soloist and make you and dad proud.”

His mother peered at him with such doubt that Brett almost felt offended.

“If you say so,” she said, without much confidence. “You should keep your options open, is all. I mean, your brother, now he has the face of someone who needs to work hard in life. But you, after we got those braces off, you look all right. You inherited my skin and my smile. You should take advantage of that. Eddy, what do you think?”

Eddy stared at her. “Uh . . .”

“ _Mum._ Don’t drag him into this.”

Mrs. Yang ignored her son. “Come to think of it, Eddy, I ran into your mother the other day. She said you’re _also_ thinking about going to music school? Why?”

“Uh . . .” Eddy’s eyes flickered shyly towards Brett, then danced away before anyone noticed. “N-no reason. I just. My sister, you know. I’m greatly, uh, influenced by her, and want to follow in her footsteps.”

Mrs. Yang raised a brow. “You both are very strange. Well, Eddy, you’re just like a son to me, so I’ll tell you too. There are plenty of wealthy international students at Griffith. If you insist on becoming a poor musician instead of a doctor, _marry rich_.”

Brett groaned and motioned for Eddy to ignore her. Eddy shrugged and smiled.

* 

In college, Brett worked hard and played hard, and while it’s true that he dated a few international girls who swathed themselves in Gucci and LV, those relationships never seemed to benefit Brett financially (quite the opposite, in fact) and also never lasted long.

In fact, none of his relationships lasted very long which, by senior year, began to trouble him a bit.

“Eddy, I’ve been thinking. Maybe my mum was right.”

Eddy, who was typing away at his paper like the good student he was, responded with an absent, “Hmm? About what?”

Brett rolled his chair over to Eddy’s desk and took his laptop away. “Listen, this is important.”

Eddy allowed himself a woeful glance at the laptop, but listened as commanded.

“Well, if you remember, she said I shouldn’t limit myself to girls.”

“Uh. What now?”

“Yes, and mothers know best, they say. It’s the 21st century and we shouldn’t limit ourselves to gender norms. I’m not saying I’m gay, but just that I should explore.”

“Um . . . okay?”

“I knew you’d understand. But don’t worry,” Brett added, “I’m not going to hit on _you_ or anything. It won’t be weird. I’ll explore with, you know, other guys, not you. I just thought I’d tell you, so you aren’t caught by surprise.”

“Oh,” Eddy said softly. “Right, sure.”

Brett was already scrolling through his phone at that point and missed the flash of disappointment in Eddy’s eyes. “Anyway, there’s this guy I met at that party and he messaged me on FB, and he’s kind of not the classical music type, but let me show you anyway . . .”

*

After college, Brett wondered if his mum might be right about the other thing as well. It took about half a year of professional orchestra—half a year of waking up early, and getting to work on time, and practicing after work, and dealing with asshole conductors, and paying exorbitant Sydney rent on a meager paycheck—for Brett to realize that maybe he just wasn’t cut out for hard work.

“I’m thinking mum’s right. I should find myself a rich person and settle down.”

Eddy emitted a muffled groan. “Do we have to talk about this right now?”

It was two A.M. and they were crammed into Eddy’s twin bed in his dorm room back in Brisbane.

“Making money is a lot more tedious than I thought,” Brett continued. “And back in the day, artists and musicians all had patrons, so. I’m not ashamed of it; musicians have to eat, too.”

“Okay,” Eddy mumbled sleepily. “That sounds nice.”

Brett frowned into the darkness, suddenly irritated at Eddy’s lack of attention. If this had been before—before Brett moved away and before they could only see each other once or twice a month and before _her_ —Eddy definitely would have woken up and talked this through with him, no matter how late. But now . . .

He wormed his way closer against Eddy on the very tiny bed, as if that might help things.

“You’re sure that your girlfriend doesn’t mind me coming here, right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

“Ok. It’s just that, sometimes, I feel like she gives me these weird looks when I’m around you. Like I’m too close or something.”

“It’s fine. You’re overthinking.”

“Yeah. Well, you’re kind of dense about these things—”

“ _I’m_ kind of dense?” Eddy retorted softly, which Brett ignored.

“—so you should tell her that there’s nothing going on between us. That we’re just friends, and always will be, you know?”

Eddy didn’t respond right away. After awhile, after Brett thought he’d drifted off to sleep, he turned on his side so that his back faced Brett and said, very quietly, “Ok. I get it. I’ll let her know.”

Brett lay silently on his side and studied the outline of Eddy’s back, which looked like some impenetrable barrier in the darkness. He felt a lump form in his throat. To get rid of it, he wrapped his arm around Eddy and buried his face against Eddy’s back. It calmed him down to breathe in Eddy’s familiar scent. It should be fine to do this, he thought, since he’d clarified that they were just friends.

Eddy tensed for a moment, then gave in and let Brett hold him.

*

With his mum’s blessings, Brett began fishing for the big money. There was that guy who ran the record agency—he seemed promising but turned out to be too much of a capitalist to really appreciate the beauty of classical music. Then there was that tall, blonde girl, who was very pretty and very rich, but also very high maintenance. After that was the boy who was set to inherit Singapore’s largest instrument shop, such a nice boy, but just a bit too shy.

So in the words of Goldilocks, none of them were just right.

“I’m going to be stuck in this job forever,” Brett lamented.

Eddy glanced at him sympathetically, though Brett could tell he was stifling a laugh. To comfort Brett, he transferred one piece of tempura shrimp from his bowl to Brett’s. “You’ll feel better after you eat.”

“I _won’t_ ,” Brett maintained, though that didn’t stop him from crunching happily into the shrimp. “I just wish they were more like—”

“More like?”

Brett blushed suddenly and muttered _nothing_. He busied himself with slurping up his bowl of noodles.

“Anyway, how’s your life?”

Eddy shrugged. “Same old. Working on a new soundtrack.”

Downplaying himself again, Brett thought. After injuring himself in college, Eddy had given up the violin and taken up composing, which was probably the best decision he’d ever made. Sure, Edward Chen wasn’t a household name yet, but he had already composed a few cinematic soundtracks of note and people in the industry were beginning to pick up on his talent. Brett never said anything, but he was secretly, ridiculously proud of Eddy.

“Well, just make sure to remember me when you become rich and famous.”

“I think it’ll be a long time before I’m super rich. But if I’m just famous,” Eddy murmured, “will you still consider me?”

“What do you mean? For what? Oh wait—for— _oh._ ”

Eddy’s eyes twinkled as he smiled at Brett from across the table. Brett felt his whole face burn up. “ _N-no._ I’m not—I already told you, not you.”

Eddy leaned his head casually against his hand and studied Brett with an enigmatic smile. “Uh huh.”

*

After that, there was a period in which Brett stopped dating. It’s not that he didn’t want to, but it’s just that no one seemed to spark his interest, regardless of their wealth level.

Besides, he was busy. He’d moved in with Eddy (to save money, that’s all!), and in his down time, he liked to help Eddy with his compositions. Brett wasn’t the best with music theory, but Eddy seemed to like it when Brett played his compositions back to him on the violin. And if Eddy found that inspiring, who was Brett to question him?

The only drawback was that people constantly mistook them to be dating.

It’s true that, sometimes, Eddy liked to touch Brett unnecessarily to get his attention, because Eddy was a touchy-feely kind of person. And it’s true that, sometimes, when they were standing together, Brett would get tired and would lean against Eddy, because that was convenient, and Eddy would wrap an arm around his waist to hold him up. And it’s true that, sometimes, when they were sitting together, they would end up rolling their chairs really close, until their arms were basically touching, but that was mostly accidental. And it’s true that, sometimes, when they worked really late and were totally exhausted, they’d fall asleep together in the same bed.

“But it doesn’t mean anything at all.”

“Ok, but, like, you live in the same house,” Sophie said, squinting at Brett. “Like, you can just walk to your own room to sleep . . .”

“No, I’m just saying, when we’re _really really really_ tired, like so tired that I can’t even walk to my own room. Anyway, my point is, if you know anyone that’s single, I’m available.”

Sophie sighed very deeply and said, “Brett, no offense, but I don’t want to talk to you anymore about this.”

*

In the year that Eddy turned 30, he was nominated for an Academy Award for best original score, and he invited Brett to attend the Oscar’s with him. Brett protested weakly that Eddy should bring someone more important to him, but ultimately allowed himself to be persuaded.

Eddy didn’t end up winning, but it was still a great night, one that Brett never imagined to be possible. He told Eddy as much on the car ride back to the hotel.

“So you had fun?”

Brett nodded. He was leaning against Eddy, half-giddy, half-exhausted.

“That’s good,” Eddy murmured. Brett was vaguely aware that Eddy was holding his hand and playing with his fingers, but that didn’t really bother him, somehow. It had almost become normal.

*

The next day, they climbed up to the Hollywood sign like real tourists and gazed down a Los Angeles in all its glory.

“It’s really smoggy, actually,” Brett said, out of breath and underwhelmed. “Not the prettiest view. I think Australia’s better—”

“—Brett Yang.”

Brett started. Eddy was staring at him with very intense, serious eyes.

“Er. Yes?”

“If I won yesterday, I would have thanked you.”

“For what?”

“For being my best friend since we were fourteen, for encouraging me to continuing to play the violin, for inspiring me to go to music school, for—”

“—I thought Belle inspired you to—”

“—For sticking by me even after I gave up the violin, and for being my muse.”

“—Muse? Um, aren’t muses usually beautiful women—”

“—Dude! Stop interrupting me.”

“Sorry.”

Eddy cleared his throat. “Anyway, Brett, will you marry me?”

Brett stared at him speechlessly.

“It’s true that I’m not as rich as your mother would like, but I have enough to buy us a house in Sydney and I promise that I’ll take care of you, so you don’t have to keep working in the orchestra if you don’t want. You can play the violin for fun, or be the Youtuber you’ve always wanted to be, or you can even be a weird couch potato like your mum. So, Brett Yang, will you marry me?”

There was no kneeling on one knee, no photographer, no theatrics of any sort. But there was Eddy Chen, and the ring he’d produced from nowhere, and the fiery Californian sunset. Eddy looked oddly handsome in his white button-up and jeans. Brett felt his heart flutter, just a little bit.

“ _No._ ”

“No?”

“I mean. Why—how—we haven’t even dated!”

“You . . . live with me.”

“B-b-but that’s _different_! We haven’t even kissed!”

Eddy rolled his eyes and let out a small sigh of exasperation. Then, in one fluid motion, he pulled Brett close by the waist, leaned down and kissed him soft and slow on the lips, refusing to let go until Brett was breathless and weak.

When he finally pulled away, he peered down at Brett with seductive, half-lidded eyes and asked in his sultry low voice, “What about now?”

*

“Mum, sooooo, Eddy proposed and I accepted.”

“Oh, good. Finally.”

“What do you mean, finally?”

“Well, he did give up his dreams of becoming a doctor just to follow you to music school. And you made the poor kid wait all these years.”

“What? No. He went to music school because of Belle!”

Mrs. Yang looked at her adorable son regretfully. “You inherited my skin and my smile, but not my brain. Thank god you have Eddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving!!!!!
> 
> If you're looking for fun novels for the long weekend, I recommend everything by Mitford.


End file.
